


Overwhelmed

by TheWritingSquid



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Action, Dadgil, Gen, Gore, Inspired by DMC5SE trailer!, Light Angst, Post-DMC5, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: When a Behemoth takes a hefty bite out of Nero, Vergil's brutal fear of losing family surges up again, paralyzing him--and he sees only one way to save his son.--A quick fic inspired by the special edition trailer~
Relationships: Nero & V (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry), V & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 244





	Overwhelmed

**Author's Note:**

> Written with the trailer and Bury the Light playing non-stop in the background, because of course. :D

The world grinded into a brutal stop as the behemoth surge out of the ground, its great jaws snapping shut around Nero’s midriff even as he spun midair. Horror hit Vergil like a thunderbolt, his muscles locking into place as blood sprayed all around and his son’s agonized scream buried the demonic horde’s screeching. The behemoth smashed on the ground, dragging Nero with him, and Red Queen clattered across the shattered pavement. Where Vergil stood rigid, fear gripping like a vice, Nero had gone limp.

He needed to move _now_ , to slide forward with the Yamato shining a bright blue, a hundred deadly summoned swords preceding him. Nero was dying, insides crushed under powerful teeth, his gorgeous blue wings gone. If Vergil didn’t move, didn’t act--his family was dying again, dying before his eyes, and the stench of burning wood and smoke filled Vergil’s nostrils, paralyzing him.

He had learned so much, had accepted so many nightmares, and yet _and yet_. Nero’s scream echoed through his skull, bouncing over and over, bitter terror at the potential loss both decades old and brand new, its hold on him impossibly strong. Even now, after confronting so much of his own nightmares, Vergil did not know how to face this one--how to face the twist in his heart overcoming all else.

Only V had known that, and V was gone, reabsorbed into him.

Into him.

Vergil flipped his grip on the Yamato, his heart pounding as determination pushed by his paralysis. He did not stop to think or question his impulse, only pressed the tip of the Yamato against his chest and rammed it in.

Agony rippled through his body, waves of power burning his muscles away, wracking through him until he no longer felt his body at all. He was floating, his back arching, his arms thin and spindly as they spread out. The handle of an engraved cane solidified into his palm, and as the surge of pain flowed out, his lips stretched into a thin smirk.

“Sweet joy, but two days old,” he whispered.

The ink along his arm exploded outward, and his heart leapt as Nightmare smashed into the ground in front of him. Shattered pieces of tarmac flew up at the impact, then the air crackled with electricity. Griffon’s loud whoop echoed across the battlefield, and Shadow roared in response. He hung midair, the familiar’s powers channeled through his own, an exhilarated laugh slipping through his lips as they laid waste to the battlefield. By the time V’s sandalled feet touched the ground once more, Nightmare’s beam and Shadow’s wheel had reduced the Behemoth’s armour and flesh to shreds.

“Come on, Shakespeare, let’s check on your boy!”

_His boy_. The dissonance staggered him, but he stumbled to Nero’s side nonetheless. Every step strained his weakened muscles and as he reached the bloodied, crushed midriff, he noticed how his skin flaked. _So soon_. Vergil had not yielded for long, but that he had allowed for this at all--that he had reached for his most distilled humanity and the strength to move past trauma… Well, perhaps some lessons were starting to sink in through his thick skull.

“Nero,” he said.

A thin blue line appeared at the edge of the wounds, as if responding to his voice. The bleeding slowed, and Nero’s eyes fluttered open. “V?”

Hope layered his tone, and V struggled with simultaneous hurt and joy. Nero cared for V in a way he never would for Vergil. How ironic, that he was fated to vanish, and yet how satisfying to hold this small victory within himself. V raised a hand, the skin now shedding at a rapid pace.

“A temporary state of things, I am afraid.” His smirk widened and, holding tight to his cane, he pushed himself back to his feet. “It would seem I’ve found a brand new way to avoid facing overwhelming emotions as, well, _all_ of myself.”

Griffon landed on his shoulder without even a mocking caw, and V understood. His familiars were not truly back; much like himself, they were a projection born out of Vergil’s needs, and all four of them were already receding.

Nero pushed himself up on his elbow, face still contorted in pain. “That’s fucked up.”

V’s cane glowed blue, and he could barely feel its relief in his palm. His body was fading, the disconnect from it growing as the blue shine deepened.

“I will not cease from mental fight,” he said, voice changing with every word. V closed his eyes, cane twirling in his hand, and pushed through the rest of the quote. “Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.”

Strength returned to him as he finished, the Yamato once more in gloved hands, demonic energy flowing through him, granting him a grace V could never achieve. A low throb emanated from his chest, but it had worked. Vergil avoided looking at Nero, words failing him, but he could not help his thin smile as he ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back where it belonged.

“Ya could have left a few for me,” Nero said, before flopping back down. “But I guess that gives me time for a nap until Nico rolls in.”

Vergil acquiesced with a nod. Words jostled through his mind--about Nero’s near death, or his time as V, already fuzzy to his mind; about his personal paralysis, or the relief now leaving him trembling--but they never reached his lips. Instead, he sheathed the Yamato and said, “I will watch for stray demons.”

Neither of them would speak of this in the hour that followed, waiting for the screech of Nico’s tires to break the silence.


End file.
